Good Man
by GorimJr
Summary: After Castiel learns that God will not help, he receives comfort from an unlikely person. Cas/Anna; my first Supernatural fanfiction, please read and review!


He's done this before, and it didn't feel right. He knows why now. Before it was fueled by curiosity; he'd seen Dean do it a few times and wondered what purpose it had. Now, like with Dean back then, it was fueled by rage.

The angel hits the wall with all his strength over and over again, and it hurts _a lot_, and poor Jimmy Novak probably doesn't deserve this beating, because his body has already been though (no pun intended) hell and back. But it's the Jimmy Novak side of his head that prompts this; the irrational side that's fueled by human passions. He gives into that side, the way he's given into the despair and the betrayal and the hopelessness and helplessness. He punches the wall over and over again, and now he understands why Dean does it when he's at the end of his rope.

You need something to hit when you're like this.

Abruptly he stops, panting, and examines his hands. Even hands with mere human strength behind the blows would be battered, but the host's hands are more than battered. They're bruised and bloody, the skin of the knuckles having split, the bones of the back obviously shattered. Pain pulses up and down his arms, originating from the purple, bloody things on the end of them, and this far from calms him. It makes him want to punch the wall more, out of some despair-fueled curiosity. How long would it take for his hands to be completely useless?

He's surprised they haven't healed yet, before he remembers that Heaven no longer cares. His jaw clenches, and he winds back, ready to hit the already bloody brickwork with all he has again.

Until the streetlights flicker and a quiet, cool voice slides through the red, hot haze like a knife.

"Cas, that's not going to help you." That voice is painfully familiar. He turns, scarcely daring to believe it.

Anna stands there, still and silent. She's different, and not just her clothing (honestly, she's the only angel who thinks of changing their outfit every once in awhile). She seems calmer, a direct contrast from when he saw her last; her hair frizzy and her eyes wide and barely sane. She's more like herself now.

She shouldn't be here.

"You shouldn't be here," Castiel growls, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. "You're dead."

"You shouldn't be here either," she retorts. "Or have you forgotten the day the Gate opened?" Of course he remembers that; how could he not remember the bright light that was beautiful for about four and a half seconds before he was literally ripped apart and splattered across the floor, walls and ceiling of Chuck's house? Still…

"I was brought back," he whispers. "You… You're…"

"Different?" Anna asks coolly, a small smile on her face. "How so? You're better?" He doesn't want to get into an argument with someone who's dead, and at this point, his hands have stopped throbbing, so he can only assume that this is a dream. A dream that brutally rubs every mistake he's ever made in his face. Charming.

"It doesn't matter," he says simply. "Because you're still dead."

"Are you sure about that?" She asks mysteriously, and for a moment, he wonders. She certainly _looks_ real. She _looks_ like she's standing there, and she looks good too. But maybe that's the trip up. When he last saw Anna, her hair had lacked luster and was somewhat frizzy, her face pale and drawn, her eyes betraying a breaking sanity. Now, her hair is straight, rich and flawless, and she looks healthy, both physically and mentally.

He can only imagine what he looks like. Still, she's only a dream.

"Acting like this isn't going to help, Castiel." Anna says quietly, stepping forward, through the puddles of rain water towards the heartbroken angel. "I know it's hard. Loosing hope and faith. But this isn't-"

"The end of the world?" Cas asks, uncharacteristically sarcastic and bitter. Anna stops, watching him with sorrow and pity.

"This isn't like you," she finishes quietly. She's close now, close enough to touch him if she so chose. Castiel turns away as thunder rumbles ominously in the far distance; the storm that had passed through earlier was turning around and heading back.

"I don't care," he says quietly. Anna laughs humorlessly.

"Liar," she accuses, and he winces. "You care a lot. Believe me when I say that I know exactly what's going on with you. The emotions… You don't know what means what and how to deal with it. That's fine. It takes practice. But this," she looks past him at the blood on the brick wall from his relentless blows. "This is counter-productive."

"Well, what would you have me do?" Castiel snarls, turning to glare at his fellow fallen. "I sure as hell don't know, so enlighten me, Commander." Anna presses her lips together in a tight line.

"Like I said before, Castiel," she says quietly. "Sometimes, making your own decisions is hard and confusing." She looks up at him, her eyes flashing. "But it's your duty-"

"Duty?" His tone silences her, startles her, and she takes a sharp step back from the look in his eyes. "You, of all people, are going to lecture me about duty?" Rage bubbles up as he gains momentum, his voice slowly rising in volume. "You left, Anna! You left long before I, long before I even considered it a possibility! I trusted you, Anna! We all did, and then you just left. And when you left…" He grits his teeth and, realizing that this is a dream, continued. "I had nothing." Anna stares at him, her eyes wide and full of pain. "I trusted you! I loved you. And not just like a commander, or a sister. It was…" His voice breaks.

"More than that." Anna finishes softly, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Yes," Castiel rasps, a hollow, sick feeling rising up in his stomach. "I loved you more than that." Anna sighs and takes two steps forward before wrapping her arms around him. He stiffens, half wanting to pull away, but hollowness doesn't let him, so he hugs her back, buries his face in her shoulder and weeps silently. The only clue is his shoulders, which shake violently.

He feels Anna's cool hand on his neck and hears her whisper senseless, soothing things. As the momentum of his adrenaline simmers down, the pain of his broken hands returns, a dull throb that grows in pain until it's almost unbearable. It hurts.

It hurts…

He draws back sharply, staring at her in wonder. Pain doesn't happen in dreams. Everyone knows that. So…

She sees the realization in his eyes and smiles gently. She takes his broken hands in hers, gently, and presses the broken knuckles to her lips.

Then she stands on her tip toes and presses her lips against his.

It's startling and completely unexpected. But it's also surprisingly nice, and distinctly different from the brothel that Dean took him to, the night they were unsure whether he would live through the next day or not. That night had been burned in his memory as one of the least comfortable, most terrifying experiences in his life. And he's had an incredibly long life.

But this is different.

It's quiet and personal, almost chaste. A simple brush that lasts a few moments before she draws back, still so close that, when she speaks, her lips brush against his.

"You can't be made useless, Castiel." Her hand cups his cheek. "You can't be idle with despair. It's not over yet. I promise."

--

"Cas! _Cas!_ Damn it, if you're dead, I'm going to kill you!" Castiel opens his eyes, blinking in the bright sunlight. Dean's standing over him, looking anxious.

"Dean?" He rasps, clearing his throat. He's slumped against a brick wall. His neck and back are killing him, suggesting that he's been there awhile.

"Geez, Cas," the man says, shaking his head. "After you stormed out I figured you'd flown to Hawaii or something."

"Why would I do that?" The angel asks blankly, sitting up. Dean rattles off a blithe reply as Castiel realizes something and lifts his hands up to eye level.

They're fine. No bruises, no split skin, no broken bones. He flexes them experimentally, and there's no pain. His head is remarkably clear, and aside from the stiffness in his neck and back, he hasn't felt so good in awhile.

_Was it a dream?_ He thinks, disappointed. He looks up to see Dean staring at him as if he's worried that the angel will start smiling and singing kiddie show theme songs.

"You okay?" Dean asks slowly as Castiel stands up and rubs his neck.

"I'm fine," he says, then glances at the wall and stares.

Blood. Long since dried blood. He clenches his hand into a fist and tests it, slowly punching the wall.

It fits perfectly.

His brain whirls with confusion. Dream or not a dream? He thought back and remembered Anna kissing his hands. Could she have healed him?

He reaches out and touches the blood, almost hypnotized, paying no attention to the increasingly concerned friend behind him.

"Ca-as?" Dean asks, tapping the angel on the shoulder. "Castiel, are you feeling okay? I mean, I get how much it sucks, but dude…" He sighs. "I can't have you going all… Loopy on me, okay?" Castiel doesn't answer, he just keeps staring at the blood, thinking about Anna and the possibilities. "Cas? Castiel?" The angel ignores him, a frown creasing his features. Where would she go? Where could she go? "Hey! Earth to Angel! Are you okay?" Cas feels a small smile tug at his lips. Anna had given him another mission without meaning to; another purpose to replace the search for God.

Find Anna. If she was back and better than ever, something changed. She insinuated that God had brought her back. Perhaps she knows something. Besides, he thinks, remembering the brush of her lips on his, old friends need to check in on each other.

He turns to Dean, who's staring at him, blatantly worried.

"Yes, Dean," Castiel says, smiling slightly. "I think I'll be fine now."


End file.
